


the ask and the ocean

by leftbrainhipcheck



Category: Chaos Walking - Patrick Ness
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftbrainhipcheck/pseuds/leftbrainhipcheck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrace tries to convince Coyle that she has The Answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ask and the ocean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [furchte_die_schildkrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furchte_die_schildkrote/gifts).



Nicola had grown accustomed to finding herself struck dumb in Saoirse’s presence, had become used to the feeling of beginning a thought only to lose the thread of it when Saoirse licked her lips, tilted her head.  She had acclimated to a certain kind of silence.  This is what love feels like, she thought, this hush, vast and churning and deep.  Like staring into the sea.

 _Like kissing an ocean_ , she said to herself sometimes, leaning in.

This silence was different.

“I could do it alone,” Saoirse said into the quiet, speaking to the ceiling.  “I’m not saying I couldn’t.  But I would rather have you with me.  Think of what we could do together, Nic.”

Nicola just stared at her, at the profile of the person she loved most, this person who was suddenly a stranger, and blinked.

Saoirse rolled over, closing the distance between them in the bed, and wriggled around until their foreheads were touching. “Will you - can you just say something?  What are you thinking?”

Nicola found herself dropping her eyes to avoid Saoirse’s gaze.  They took in her lover’s shoulders, her collarbone, her freckles like constellations in the candlelight.  She wanted to say, _You’re beautiful, freedom-girl._   She wanted to say, _You’re beautiful, and you’re brilliant, and you’re wrong._

Not that she hadn’t been expecting this conversation.  From the moment the fighting with the Spackle began, she knew Saoirse would want to join in, and she was right: Saoirse had breathlessly followed every skirmish, deeply mourned every casualty, railed against every failed strategy with increasing fury.  The two of them came here together, hoping to shape New World into something better than what they’d left behind, but until now there had been nothing for Saoirse to do.  Nothing of the sort of work that mattered to her, anyway, nothing of the sort of work that put her military training to use.  Healers have purpose wherever there are people, but soldiers, it occurred to Nicola, well, they require war.  And now Saoirse had found her war.  Nicola wasn’t surprised that she was desperate to take part.  But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“It just doesn’t seem… necessary,” she said finally.

“Doesn’t seem _necessary_?” Saoirse exclaimed, propping herself up on one elbow.  “They’re attacking us, for God’s sake — ”

“For you to get involved, I mean.  For us to get involved.  Other people are taking care of it - so let them do it.”

Soairse's eyes narrowed, her lip curled.  “Let them do it - you mean the men.  Let the men do our fighting while we just sit here and, what?  Do needlepoint like good little girls?”

“Don’t make this about that.  You know I don't mean - this isn't because you’re a woman.”

“Well they certainly think it is.  They act like they’re the only ones who can be heroes, like their Noise makes them something special — ”

Nicola sat up.  “This is what I mean.  You just want to go fight to prove something, to be a hero — ”

“So?  What’s wrong with that?  If you’re fighting for what’s right, of course you're trying to be a hero.  The whole _point_ is to be a hero!”

Nicola swallowed the yell rising in her chest.  “And who exactly are you asking me to fight?  The way you talk - god, you're angry at the Spackle, you're angry at the men... who's the enemy?  Is the point of all this peace, or power?”

“I don’t see why I have to choose.”

Nicola gave a little growl.  “You always think everyone’s wrong about everything — ”

“Yeah, well, that's because they _are_ wrong, Nic!  They’re wrong, and they’re dangerous, and you know it.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

This was met with a cold look.  “Don’t be so naive.”

It was infuriating, her open disdain, her unwavering conviction in her own beliefs, but it was also one of the things Nicola loved best about Saoirse.  She was passionate, she was burning with righteousness, she believed that power was worth having and that it ought to be hers.  Somewhere along the way she had become absolutely convinced that she could do a better job than anyone else in creating the world they’d set out to create.  It was terrifying, and electrifying, and very, very sexy.

And the thing was: Saoirse _wasn’t_ wrong.  The Spackle were a threat, yes, the most pressing threat, but Nicola was increasingly troubled by the shape this new world was taking - the men with their Noise, their isolation, their increasing hostility, nervous or jealous or just plain cruel, their growing contempt for female leaders, their refusal to let women participate in the war, the escalating fear, inflamed by the fighting until it approached something like widespread paranoia…

“You brought me here,” Saoirse said quietly, lying back down and staring at the ceiling again.  “I came here for you, to be with you, in this New World that was supposed to be better.  But it isn’t better.  It’s as full of hate and hurt as the Old World was.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicola found herself whispering.

“Me too.”  She turned to look at Nicola, caught her gaze, wouldn’t let it go.  “But it doesn’t have to be this way.  We have an opportunity, right now, to shape things.  To make New World into the place we thought it would be.  I can do this, Nic - with you, I can do this.”

Nicola knew she was being manipulated.  She could feel it happening, could see the strategies Saoirse - _Lieutenant Thrace_ , she reminded herself - was using.  Feint here, flank there, apply pressure to the trigger just so… and still, she felt it working.

“Even if you do it, I don’t see why you need me.  I’m not a military strategist.  I’m just a Healer.”

She was giving way, giving in, and she knew Saoirse felt it, knew exactly what would happen next.  “You’re not _just_ , anything, Mistress Coyle,” she said, her voice low, and suddenly she was sitting up, of course she was, suddenly she was straddling Nicola, suddenly her hands were in her hair and her face was close to hers and she was kissing her, deep, she was whispering in her ear, _I need you, NIcola, you know I need you_.

Sex as a weapon.  Nicola should have been surprised, but she wasn't.

“Even if I’m not _just_ a Healer, I’m still a Healer,” Nicola said, turning her face so that Saoirse had to lean away.  “I can’t hurt people.  You should see the things I’ve — I can’t.  I won’t.”

“Who said anything about people?  I thought we were talking about Spacks and Noisemakers.”

“ _Saoirse_.”

She smirked.  “See, this is why I need you - I can't be the one who does the talking, I just make everyone mad.  You may be a Healer, love, but you know where your talents really lie?”  She leaned down, gently biting her way up Nicola’s neck, across her jawline.  “Right… on the tip… of your tongue.”

She let Saoirse kiss her this time, slowly, let her pin her hands above her head and run her fingers across her skin, let her draw long low moans from her throat until she no longer cared about war or fear, until she no longer remembered what world she was on, until nothing seemed to matter except the weight of Saoirse’s body on hers, the flick of her tongue, the arch of her back.

“It's just - who's going to do it, if not us?” Saoirse asked, later but before the sweat had dried on their skin, and Nicola nearly wept as her brief mindless peace collapsed under the weight of two worlds.  She didn’t move, didn’t make any sign at all that she had heard the question.  One small push in any direction suddenly felt like it would be enough to shatter her.

“Come with me, Nicola.  I need you.”

Silence.

And then, finally, the Ask.

“Please?”

Nicola thought about the ocean.  About the way so much of it is hidden from sight; about the steady strength with which waves crash onto the shore, over and over, wearing down stones into sand.  She thought about how small people are, standing there at the edge of what cannot be seen, looking out, alone.

She took a long, long breath.

Alone, or not alone.

She exhaled.

And she prepared to give her Answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Dearest darling Yuletide-recipient,
> 
> First of all, thank you for introducing me to this complicated, brilliant, absolutely amazing pairing, which I now ship with the passionate fire of a thousand suns. (Although I'm a huge fan of Choas Walking, it had been a while since I'd read it, and in my first go Thrace just wasn't really on my radar at all. I KNOW.) Second, I hope you enjoy the story! I did my best to shape it around your headcanon, which I loved. Happy Yuletide!
> 
> xxoo


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